“Why do you care?” she said.
The question seemed to catch him off-guard. He blinked and rolled his tongue across his lower lip. “Hell if I know.”
Their eyes locked. Skye felt her layers peeling back, revealing too much, even as she saw in him a raw, bald vulnerability that matched her own. They stared at each other, breathing hard. The music thumped as loud and fast as their hearts. Real. That was the only word to describe them at that moment. Real and honest. Two broken souls clinging to whatever rock they could in the storm of life.
But the moment could not last. Like walking on the edge of a cliff, one could only stay vulnerable as long as you didn’t think too deeply about the danger of doing so. They startled back, as though they’d scared themselves with the truth.
“Not tonight,” she said. Tonight was about forgetting. It was about getting lost in the game and the kink and the wild wonders of each other’s bodies.
He nodded, hearing the truth behind her words loud and clear.
They came together in a clash of lips and tongue and teeth in a kiss that bordered on desperate. In a way, they were. She wrapped her leg around him, wrapped her arms around him, and battled to regain that lost, mindless descent into bliss.
His hand snaked between them and found her pussy as his other hand reached into his jeans pocket and came out with a condom. Beneath the low brim of his ball cap, heat and need radiated from his dark, half-lidded yes. “I’m gonna give you what you need. I’m gonna help you cross that line.”
Yes, finally. “So do it,” she challenged. “Just fucking do it.”
He seized hold of her hips and spun her around so that she faced the dance floor. His erection dug into her ass. He placed her hands on the rail. “Keep them there and spread your legs.”
The young blonde across the way was holding a pink drink in a martini glass and swaying to the music. She must have felt Skye’s eyes on her because she squared up to the balcony and gave Skye and Gentry her full attention.
Gentry wrapped a hand around her waist and found Skye’s clit, working it in relentless little circles until she was breathless again. Still, she held the pretty young thing’s gaze, even when Gentry’s cock nudged at her entrance.
Bracing her hands against the rail, her eyes on the blonde, she shifted her hips, arching for him, but the moment he started that slow push inside her, stretching and filling her, every nerve ending in her body lit up and she lost all sense of herself. She hunched into her hands, head lowered, lips open with a moan that went on and on and on.
He kissed her back. “You with me, baby?”
She lifted her heavy head and angled her chin over her shoulder to offer him a look that was half-smile, half-plea. You’re still fucking talking, she wanted to say. If only she could get her mouth to form words. Instead, she rocked her hips, moving him in and out, figuring that if he wouldn’t move, being so hell-bent on driving her crazy without release, then she’d do the moving herself.
His hand cupped her pussy, his middle finger pressing ever so perfectly against her clit so that it slid up and down as she moved. And then, finally, he took over, thrusting so hard that her hips hit the balcony, so hard that she wasn’t sure how he was managing to keep that finger on her clit. Another look across the club revealed that the pretty young blonde in the black dress wasn’t alone. Another woman was toying with the young thing’s hair. Both sets of eyes were on Skye. Good. Let ’em watch.
The sex got raw and dirty fast as they devolved into their animal selves, thrusting and grunting. Nothing between them but slick heat and friction. Then his hand closed on her throat, lifting her up. She arched her back to keep him inside her and let him pull her up until his face appeared near her ear. His breath fanned out over her cheek.
“You are so goddamn hot. I need you to ride me.”
Oh, she liked the sound of that, but there was one problem. “I don’t want to say good-bye to my friends.” She nodded toward the blonde, who licked her lips and sipped her drink. Her friend’s lips teased her ear and her hand cupped the blonde’s tits through her dress.
Gentry followed her gaze, then gave a growl of a laugh. “I can see why. I think I can make us all happy. You stay there for a sec.”
He pulled out of her. She traced the swells of her breasts, purely for her friends’ benefit. Behind her, glass rattled and tickled as Gentry moved the bottle service tray off the ottoman, then scooted it behind Skye.
Then he was standing behind her again. He spit on his hand and worked it over the length of his cock, then pressed into her, thrusting, once, twice, until he seated himself fully inside her, flooding her senses all over again.
“Come back with me, now,” he said.
Taking her by the hips, he sat on the ottoman and then laid back so that Skye was straddling him backward, reverse cowgirl style. She braced her hands on his legs and found her friends across the club again. They were both smiling this time. Skye blew them a kiss, then, with Gentry’s hands on her hips urging her on, she started to move her hips in a rolling, bucking thrust, around and around like she was back in the bar riding that bull like the cowgirl she was.
Gentry swore and smacked her ass. “You keep that up, I’m gonna come. Touch yourself. Get there with me.”
No problem. She was so close, as it was, that all she needed was to flick her clit a few times while she bounced and she was there.
The young blonde and her friend had stopped moving, so enthralled were they with Skye, their faces the pictures of arousal. Skye looked the blonde in the eye and mouthed to her, “I’m coming.” The blonde’s lips parted at those words, but that was the last thing Skye saw. As her body shattered into a million little pieces, she gripped Gentry’s wrists and threw her head back, crying out her pleasure for all the world to hear.
Whoever she’d been when she’d boarded that private jet was all but gone. And in her place, a wild, wanton force of nature, free of the bonds of time and faith and family—and with an equally wild bad boy beneath her, anchoring her and goading her on. They were so compatible, she and Gentry. Two reckless, hungry souls looking for escape, and at least for this one night together, they’d found it in each other’s arms.
Chapter Nine
Sunday around noon, Gentry rented a car from the San Antonio airport to drive the hour and half northwest to Skye’s home in Dulcet, just as he’d promised. The experience didn’t compare to a private jet, but he’d flown them first class from Nashville, which was as close as he could get on such short notice. She’d insisted that she could find her own way home and he could fly direct to Tulsa, but he’d made her a deal that he’d make sure she got home all right from their jaunt in Nashville, and, by God, he was going to walk her all the way to her front door.
He’d have plenty of time afterward to return the avalanche of phone calls and text messages waiting for him on his phone, from Larry and Nick and even his ranch manager, Elias. But for the time being, he let the phone vibrate in his pocket as he enjoyed every minute he had left with Skye.
He had the feeling she was feeling the same way, because she’d insisted on giving him a driving tour of Dulcet on their way to her house. It was a sleepy, small town, with only a café or two, a bar, a firehouse, a feed store and a grocery store, and a church on every corner, much like the small town Gentry had grown up in. When she spoke of the places and stores that meant something to her, including her family’s church, a somber, sand-colored building with an ornate wooden door and even more ornate stained-glass windows, there was no mistaking the affection and pride in her voice.
It was the reminder he needed that she had a real life, that the wild, wanton Skye of last night and that morning in the hotel room they’d collapsed in after the club was not the only side of her—nor, necessarily, the superior side, as he’d tried to insist. She’d been trying to tell him as much, but he’d resisted because he could see how conflicted she was to be living such a dual life.
But he’d clearly been projecting th
e pain of his own duality. The man who couldn’t stand the taste of beer, but had made millions of dollars pretending to in song. The man who extolled the virtues of hometown roots, only to see his own as nothing but a warning about what not to do. The man who swore up and down that he had no interest in being in a relationship ever again, but was having trouble accepting that, as soon as he dropped Skye off at home, they’d probably never see each other again.
From Main Street, they headed northwest, where the terrain grew hilly and greener, save for the striking fields of bluebonnets. She directed him into an upper-middle-class neighborhood of well-kept, two-story brick homes set on a lot of land, their driveways accented with nice cars, rather than rusty old heaps on the lawn. This was a side of small town America Gentry wasn’t all that familiar with growing up, the well-to-do kind.
“This is it,” Skye said. “My neighborhood.”
“I like it.”
“Me too. I grew up here, went to school here.” She looked out the window, an almost accidental smile tugging at her lips. “It’s home.”
No wonder she wanted to marry a man who was a local and settle down there. She was already settled down—she just needed a partner who wasn’t going to pull her away from her family and her life. Suddenly, he was filled with gratitude that he’d insisted on driving her home. Beyond that, he now had a much richer understanding of her and what made her tick. This made it easier for him to accept that he wasn’t the man for her. He would never be able to give her the stability she needed, not with world tours every other year and jetting all over the country wherever the interviews, performances, and awards shows took him. They were doing the right thing by parting ways, no matter how his heart wanted to play tricks on him that it could be otherwise.
At a four-way stop in the belly of the neighborhood, she set a hand on his arm. “I’d rather you let me out here. My place is just around the corner, and if we say good-bye here, then I won’t have to deal with the prying eyes of my family.”
“Your family?”
Her expression turned sheepish with a cringe. “Don’t judge me, but I live across the street from my parents.”
“Holy shit, girl. Are you kidding me?”
She tugged at his arm. “It’s a good thing, most of the time. I love it. When the house went up for sale across the street, I jumped on the chance.”
“And, here, I thought you and I were a lot alike,” he teased.
With a bright smile, she shrugged. “In a lot of ways. Just not this one. I love my family.”
That, she did.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said. “The outlaw in me needs one last dirty kiss good-bye, but the gentleman in me still insists on walking you to your door. So how about we have our kiss right here?”
“Deal. I’m just glad that gentlemanly side of you doesn’t take over too often.”
“Got that right,” he growled as he cradled her cheek in his hand and lowered his mouth to hers. Random song lyrics tried to pop into his head about outlaws and gentlemen and kisses around the corner from his sweetheart’s house, but he forced them away. He could write it all down when he got back to his ranch. This moment, right here, was just about him and Skye.
Damn, he was going to miss kissing her, the strawberry sweetness of her lips and the way her tongue slid against his, that little moan in the back of her throat, the way her cheek felt in his hand, and the way she gave herself so completely over to her own pleasure. It had been an honor to witness.
When the kiss ended, she sat back in her seat and caught her breath. Her cheeks were stained pink, her eyelids seemed a little heavier, and her lips were dewy with moisture. Everything about her, from the wispy, baby-fine black hairs that curled along her hairline to the faint freckles that dotted her nose and those soulful brown eyes. Jesus, those eyes.
She directed him to a two-story brick and yellow-siding house around the corner, with a neatly trimmed lawn and a lovely porch, complete with a swing bench.
“Your house?”
“Yep. Home.”
He parked at the curb and walked around to open her door and help her out, along with a shopping bag containing last night’s red dress, which she’d swapped out this morning for a breezy moss green sundress they’d picked up in the hotel lobby.
The closer he looked at her house, the more impressed he was. She’d done well for herself. Before he’d hit it big, he’d never lived in a home this nice. Not that he enjoyed the ranch-style mansion he’d bought with the first big chunk of money he’d gotten after hitting it big, the one that his ex-wife and girlfriends had cycled in and out of and that was more of a home to his ranch manager than him.
“I love it,” he said as they walked up the driveway to the front door. “I guess your business must be booming.”
The pride was evident in her eyes. “We do all right. My mom has a great business sense and I’d like to think she passed that to me. It’s a good life.”
She said that last part as though she felt like she needed to convince him. “Hey, I can see that. In fact, I’m jealous, truth be told.”
Walking up the porch stairs, she smacked his shoulder. “You are not.”
“No, really. My ranch, my house”—he shook his head—“it’s big, but it doesn’t feel like home. And when I get there, I don’t look at it the way you’re looking at your house right now. Not even close. So, yeah, I’m a little jealous right now.”
She leaned in as though she was going to kiss him again, but the garage door started to open across the street and she pulled away, muttering, “Typical.”
“Your parents’ house?” he asked, nodding to an equally grand two-story gray-trimmed house.
“Yep. I’m surprised they’re not out front pretending to water the lawn.”
“But they’re not, so…” He leaned in and brushed his thumb across her lips. “I know this isn’t very gentlemanly of me, like I promised, but I can’t help myself,” he said in a gruff voice. “One last little kiss before I go…”
Children’s giggles froze him in his tracks. He looked around Skye and saw smiling, laughing kids at her window, including a girl whose nose and eyes were distinctly the same shape as Skye’s. His heart sank. True, the two of them hadn’t done a whole lot of talking in the three days they’d known each other, but surely she would have mentioned if she were a mom.
“Yours?” he choked out, nodding to the window.
She whirled around as the kids disappeared behind the curtain, though their laughter could be heard through the glass. “What nosy little things!” She knocked on the window with her knuckle. “Get away from the windows, kids. What did I tell you about spying on people?” To Gentry, she smiled. “Sorry. That was Teresa and Chris, my sister, Gloria’s, kids.”
“Ah.” He wasn’t sure why he was so relieved, but he was. “Not much into kids, myself. Never wanted them and never do. I have enough trouble managing myself and my career.”
“Another reason you’re not part of that love spell,” she said. “Because I can’t wait to have a couple of my own.”
Okay, then. That was the perfect segue to his good-bye. Except, even knowing how different they and their life goals were, he still couldn’t seem to lift up his boots and turn toward the car. How the hell did a man walk away from a woman like Skye, so beautiful and smart and sexy as hell?
There he went, romanticizing what they’d shared. It’d been the wildest night of his life—which was saying something because he’d been around the block a time or two—but the two of them had an agreement. He was her break from reality. Her Mardi Gras. And every Mardi Gras had to come to an end sooner rather than later. A pang of regret hit him.
He cleared his throat. “I should get going. I’ve got to get home and back to working on my next album.”
“It’s only noon. You might want to swing by the resort and get your stuff. Since you didn’t check out this morning, it’s probably in your villa. Including all your colorful underwear. I know you need it
for inspiration.”
He’d forgotten all about that, having ditched the blue pair last night in favor of going commando. “Not sure I do anymore, thanks to you and all the songs you inspired me to write this weekend.”
“Then I guess I’ll be buying your next album.”
“I’ll do you one better and send you a copy. As far as my belongings at the hotel go, I’m not sure I want to take a chance of running into Neil Blevins or his wife or anybody else who was supposed to attend the wedding last night. I think a call to the resort in a few days will be more like it. But, listen, when I call Natalie’s parents to explain what happened and how I ended up flying Natalie and Toby to Nashville, I’m going to leave your name out of the story. I don’t want to take a chance of you getting fired or hurting your business because you were fraternizing with a hotel guest and ruining a pricey wedding and all that.”
“What about you? Neil’s going to be pissed.”
Yes, he would be. But that wasn’t Skye’s problem. He winked at her. “Don’t worry about that. He can’t fire me. I’m the talent.” A gnawing feeling started up in the pit of his stomach, which he soundly ignored. “Good luck with your magic spell.”
God damn, that sounded like bullshit to his ears. He wanted her to be happy, and he wanted her to live the life she dreamed of, and Gentry certainly wasn’t the man to make that happen, but he still couldn’t stop thinking about what a shame it was. The thought of Skye choosing to give up that fire in her eyes was damn depressing. Almost as depressing as thinking about the quiet, lonely ranch house he’d be sequestering himself in until his album was done. At least he’d live on in Skye’s fantasies as the life of the party. Ironic, that. It was his fate to be nothing but a fantasy to those around him—for Skye, for his fans, for his label.
One Wild Night Page 11